


Denethor's Fevered Scribbles

by Celandine



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, F/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to the Denethor Poetry Writing Challenge, I humbly submit these misbegotten lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haikus

Finduilas waits?  
Never, I say, she is gone.  
My heart has followed.  
  
  
  
Gondor's horn, broken.  
Shadows in the east rise up.  
Time now for dying.  
  
  
  
Whither the lady  
Wanders, there my road leads me.  
My step falters not.  
  
  
  
Hair dark as nightfall,  
Moonlight her face, dawn-grey eyes.  
Her smile is my sun.


	2. Quatrains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to the Denethor Poetry Writing Challenge, I humbly submit these misbegotten lines.

The nodding snowdrop of the hills recalls  
Her face, so frail within the stony walls.  
So brief a time she blossomed in these halls –  
Now gone, enshrouded under somber palls.  
  
  
  
The city stands in ever-valiant stone  
To guard her people - and the empty throne.  
The staff I'll wield is like a polished bone  
A weight I cannot bear to bear alone.  
  
  
  
Her smile it was that first brought me to bliss.  
Alone so long, I never thought I'd miss  
Her face, her voice, and all she is to me.  
I'd give up all my duties for her kiss.


	3. Sonnets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to the Denethor Poetry Writing Challenge, I humbly submit these misbegotten lines.

[Personally I suspect that Denethor would produce just about the worst love sonnets ever written. They'll rhyme, sure, they'll have a proper meter, they'll clearly be the result of great feeling - but they'll also be trite, have predictable images and lousy metaphors, and be awkwardly phrased.]  
  
  
  
I stood alone, then saw you moving near –  
All dressed in white like foam upon the shore,  
And when your quiet voice I first did hear  
I knew I'd love another nevermore.  
  
My heart had long been shuttered, as a door  
Does hinder light from entering a room;  
Now opened through your kindness. I implore  
You not to leave and resurrect my tomb.  
  
The stars above are gleaming through the gloom  
Of night, as your face outshone all the rest  
When first I saw you, as it were a bloom  
Of evermind in the undying West.  
  
How can I end these words I say to you?  
Except to say my love is always true.  
  
  
  
[Okay, he's clearly been practicing a little bit to produce this next one.]  
  
  
Her hair like netted darkness, set with pearls  
Above a neck of alabaster white;  
Her skirts about her slender figure swirled –  
These were the things that caught me at first sight.  
  
But later 'twas her gentle dulcet tone –  
A _lómelindë_ 's voice I must it call –  
That wrenched from my poor heart a muffled moan;  
All lost amid the bustle in that Hall.  
  
Her willingness to chance an unknown road  
Drew forth my admiration and my pride.  
Acceptance of her loss – to me that showed  
Great virtue. Now, can I make her my bride?  
  
I never thought to feel a love like this –   
Acceptance by her would bring me to bliss.  
  
  
  
[Denethor just channeled another poem to me, but it's really not very good.]  
  
  
  
She has not been beside me since that day  
In winter when we spoke in company.  
But nonetheless my thoughts do often stray  
To her, and think of what she means to me.  
  
No doll, to dress and leave upon a stool;  
Nor statue, poised upon a pedestal;  
Nor – even for a loving hand – a tool –  
An equal, who then sit beside me shall.  
  
And should we come to be as one, I know  
True union will our inspiration be.  
Together we shall stand up to each blow  
In life, as shelter from the roaring sea.  
  
This separation I cannot endure  
For long. My Lady is my only cure.


	4. Linnods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to the Denethor Poetry Writing Challenge, I humbly submit these misbegotten lines.

Dawn approaches with clear light - joy is mine in the morning.  
Sweet Finduilas has let me woo her, Lady of dawning.  
  
  
  
Seabird wandering northward - hearken now to my calling.  
Will you rest in my dovecote, now that autumn is falling?


End file.
